His grief breaks forth in this pathetic swell—
I go to pine on wretched bread and cheese,
For, ah! to poultry I must bid farewell!
Martin complains his rapid flight is checked,
And doth the ruin of his house deplore,
Wond’ring that martin’s nests don’t claim respect,
As they were wont to do in times of yore.
Richardson says the world will teem with crimes,
And woe and misery pervade the state;
For what can prosper in those hapless times,